“Your mother’s mad that I’m meeting you today.” He crumpled up his napkin and set it on his empty plate. “She thinks we should leave you to have a good life.”
Officially abandoning her Danish, Gwen picked up the porcelain mug and sipped at her milky latte. A little powdered sugar still clung to her fingertips. The tiny napkins were shit. “I came here today because you said you had something important to tell me. You said it was about Geena.” He’d said what he thought would make Gwen meet him—she knew that. Still, she needed to play the game or he’d know that Geena had warned her.
“I may have lied about that.” The cell phone on the table chimed. He tapped the screen with his finger, quieting the device. His phone hadn’t stopped ringing since he’d arrived, but he canceled the call each time—giving her a pointed look that said this meeting was more important to him. Whatever.
“So, what do you want?”
He managed to look offended. “Is there something so terrible about a man wanting to know his daughter? I thought it was about time we finally met officially.” He picked up his mug. He was drinking iced tea, of all things—she hadn’t expected that. “Geena’s been better since making contact with you. Less mercurial. More composed and efficient. I like that. It made me curious about you.”
Not curious enough for him to get in touch until he wanted something, though.
“I recently learned that you and one of my acquaintances have mutual friends. The Moores. They’re not happy bunnies right now.”
Good. “They’re also not my friends.”
“Yes, I heard that you’re not too fond of the boy, Brandt, after stumbling upon him in a rather tricky situation. But you know, there are two sides to every story.”
“Shame Brandt’s a prick in both of them.”
His mouth curved. “If he’s anything like his father, who I’ve heard plenty about, then he is a prick and probably always will be. But he’s also the son of a friend’s friend.” Kenny sipped his iced tea. “You know, I’m confused. According to Geena, you’re an intelligent girl. So why would you stand up for a shifter and, in doing so, vilify your own kind? And don’t give me something about it being the right thing to do. Ethics don’t keep people alive. Smarts keep people alive. And me, well, I’d rather you were alive.”
Pissed that he’d pretend to care about her, she set down her mug and leaned forward. “Let’s just be honest, shall we? You don’t want me in your life. I don’t want you in mine. You’re not a faithful friend to your friend of the Moores or to anyone else. In fact, you probably fuck people over so often that you have to carry lube in your pocket. If you want me to back off, it must benefit you in some way—I don’t care what it is. The point is that you haven’t done a single thing for me in my entire life, so give me one good reason why I should do a damn thing for you.”
His eyes narrowed, but they sparkled with amusement and . . . approval. He gave her a slow smile. “Interesting. You have spine. I expected you to be more like your mother. It’s nice that you and I have something in common, don’t you think?”
No, she didn’t.
“I did do something for you, Gwen. I did what your neighbors didn’t have the balls to do—I called Social Services.”
She almost drew back. “You’re lying.” She’d always wondered who’d called them, but she’d never once considered that it could have been him.
“What went on in that trailer . . . It wasn’t a good environment for you to grow up in.” His voice took on a haughty, judgmental tone. “I warned your mother that I’d take steps to have you taken from her if she didn’t get rid of that useless excuse of a human being. She should have put you first.”
“But you didn’t want me either, so what makes you better than her?”
“It was nothing personal, Gwen. I don’t like kids.”
Well, she didn’t like drug dealers.
“I didn’t want my kid growing up around that shit. You’d have ended up just like Hanna. Weak. Dramatic. Self-pitying.” He shook his head in disgust. “I got you out of there.”
“Which could have been a case of tossing me from the frying pan into the fire—foster care is no walk in the park for most people. Sometimes it’s worse than where they came from.”
“Ah, but you went to a good family. I saw to that.” He smiled at her start of surprise. “Money talks, Gwen. Always has. Always will.”
She wanted him to be lying. She really, really did. Otherwise, she’d have to be at least a little grateful to him for her ending up with the Millers. Gwen didn’t want to be grateful to him for anything.
“There’s nothing glamorous about your life, Gwen, but it was a good one, for the most part. You have a job, a family, friends.” He drained his cup and put it down. “So, you see, you were wrong in saying I’ve never done a single thing for you. I took care of you in my way. Granted, I did it from afar, but I still did it. I’ve never walked into your life, asking anything of you, but now I am. I’m asking you to do this one little thing for me and just alter your statement. Tell some sweet little lies for Brandt. From what I’ve heard about him, he doesn’t need you to ruin his life—he’ll manage that all by himself.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do I know you’re not just saying that you called Social Services so I’ll feel that I owe you?”
“I suppose you don’t. But you could always check with Social Services. I never made any secret of my interest in being sure you were placed somewhere safe. I also didn’t call them anonymously. My name and my involvement should be on record.”
She slowly sank back into her chair. “So you want me to cower before the Moores as a thank-you to you for getting me out of that trailer?”
He pursed his lips. “Well, it would be nice if you did it for me purely because I’m your father, but I’d be disappointed in you if you showed any respect to someone who hasn’t earned it. So, yes, doing it as a thank-you would suit me fine.”
“It’s not that simple. They didn’t just hurt the shifter. They invested months of their lives into fucking up my life. Brandt even came close to beating me with a bat not so long ago.”